Chapter Four
Rinks are like cities, each one unique. This isn’t my first time at the Oakland rink, but now that I’m officially training here, I study everything like I’m seeing it for the first time: the lobby, with its picnic benches and concession stand; two rinks side by side, one for freestyle skaters, one for hockey; a studio on the second floor, complete with mirrored walls above a ballet barre.
I follow Faith and Hope to the studio for thirty minutes of stretching class, then forty-five minutes of off-ice dance. I still feel like dancing after we’re dismissed. It’s hard to tell if I’m more excited about training in Oakland or being done with school for the summer.
Last year in San Francisco, I skated an hour each morning, then Alex dropped me off at Mom’s office. Mom’s boss let me use an empty cubicle to watch videos from my online homeschool classes while Mom worked. Tamar and her mom would pick me up in the afternoon, I’d skate a couple more hours, and then Mom would come get me.
Summer’s different. I can stay at the rink all day and train. No video lectures for three whole months. No homework, either, except taking notes after lessons with Alex.
I sit on a bench across from Hope, who’s perched on the edge of her roller bag. She slips a gel sock over her ankle. It’s just like the ones I wear to prevent blisters. I reach into my bag and pull out my own pair, along with my phone.
Tamar texted this morning, like I’d guessed. She also sent another message during off-ice classes.
7:29 a.m.: Good luck today!!! Plz also tell my parents it’s too early to be fighting
9:40 a.m.: Hi for real this time b/c I went back to sleep lol. Summer is awesome
“Don’t forget to check in with the ice monitor.” I look up from my phone and over at Hope. “If your mom paid already, they can just mark you off on their list.”
I’m glad Hope is explaining this, because Faith isn’t. She finishes lacing her skates between two chattering girls, then pulls out her headphones and iPad in the minutes before the Zamboni finishes.
I put my phone away and lace my skates.
Nearby, a door clicks open. I look up at a familiar face.
“Alex!”
“Hi, kiddo. How’s it going?”
I steal a quick glance at Faith, then shrug.
“Give it a few days.” It’s like Alex can read my mind sometimes. He pats my shoulder, then calls Hope and Faith over.
“You probably already got to know each other a little on the drive over.” He waits until we all nod. Hope’s head bobs the hardest. “What you may not know is, you’re my only Oakland students who commute from San Francisco.”
Hope beams. I glance at Faith, who tilts her head a little.
“This summer has some big changes in store for all of you. Ana’s obviously getting used to a new training environment here, but Faith and Hope just started taking lessons from me, as well. The more you support one another, the better your chances at success this season.”
“Exactly.” Alex nods. “Help each other out and cheer one another on. Not only will you develop a strong mindset for competition, it should make practices more fun.”
“Okay!” Hope dances in place, then looks at Faith and me. “We should come up with a name.”
“That’s a great idea.” Alex smiles at her. “But first, go get on the ice and start your warm-up.”
Hope and Faith head toward the rink entrance as Alex turns to me. “You and Faith are at the same level, so it’d be great if you used that to your advantage and learned to train together.”
I watch Faith as she skates away from us. I have no clue why Alex thinks she’d want to train together when she’s hardly said anything to me all morning.
“Do you remember some of the jump exercises I taught you last year, like the split jump into a single toe loop?”
“Yep.” How could I forget when Tamar videoed my millions of attempts? For weeks, I had a stream of flailing arms and hilarious wipeouts on my phone, until I finally figured out the timing.
“Wonderful. Now, there’s someone I want to introduce you to before I start Hope’s lesson. Meet me at the music box after you get yourself situated.”
I check in with the monitor, peeking at her list while she puts a check mark beside my name. The cost of the practice ice is listed at the top. Fifteen dollars per hour. That adds up fast when I skate four sessions a day.
I tuck my necklace under my warm-up jacket’s collar, then pull off my blade guards and make my way to the boards. I set my tissue box and water bottle on the top ledge. My eyes scan the ice as I glide toward Alex.
This rink is a very different type of city. Even the skaters behave differently here. No one stops to chat or sneak in a cartwheel behind their coach’s back.
Alex stands in front of a white woman in a puffy pink jacket that looks like it’s half swallowing her. She rests her elbows on the ledge that separates the ice from a long bench behind the boards.
“Ah, Alex,” she says as I skid to a stop. “This must be your little prodigy, yes?”
Her heavy accent makes me think of fur-lined coats and castles capped in snow.
“Indeed.” Alex turns to me. “Ana, this is world-renowned choreographer Lydia Marinova. Lydia is visiting for the next—”
“Miss.” Lydia interrupts Alex, but her eyes stay on me like a hawk.
“Of course.” Alex recovers fast. “Miss Lydia will be choreographing several skaters’ programs and offering costume consults while she’s here over the next week. You’ll have your first lesson together tomorrow.”
When I was little, Mom wanted me to say “Mister” before Alex’s name. But Tamar never called him Mr. Alex, so after a while I stopped, too.
Miss Lydia’s title seems a whole lot less optional.
“Yes,” Miss Lydia says. “Tomorrow you will work hard.”
“Great,” Alex says. He smiles and I copy him, even though I can’t tell if her comment is a promise or a threat. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got to start my first lesson.”
As Alex skates off, Miss Lydia turns back to me. The playful bounce of her tightly wound, dyed-blond curls doesn’t match her frown.
“My skirt?” I look down at my leggings, confused.
“Yes.” The word cuts through the air like a skate blade, a deep edge into soft ice. “Wear it tomorrow.”
“Um. Okay.”
I don’t have a skirt, not in my duffel bag or at home. It’s been years since I even wore one at a competition.
Miss Lydia dismisses me. A lump forms in my throat as I glide away. Where am I going to get a skirt on such short notice? Besides, it’s not like I’ll ever wear it after Miss Lydia’s gone.
I spot Faith nearby, working on quick-twisting rocker turns. I skate past, not quite sure I’m ready to talk to her yet. Darting around slower skaters, I pick up speed. Arms out and shoulders down, I focus on strong edges and posture.
After one full circuit around the ice, I hop backward. The air feels colder than I’m used to, the ice harder. It crunches under my blades each time I shift my weight between the inside and outside edges of my feet. One more circuit of alternating backward edges, then I move on to basic turns and twizzles. The moves loosen my joints and warm my muscles.
I notice Hope watching me. Alex says something that snaps her to attention, but her gaze shifts back to me after a second. I raise my eyebrows, like Alex does when he catches me daydreaming. Hope grins, then refocuses on her lesson.
“Hope’s been talking about meeting you for, like, two whole weeks.”
I whirl around, surprised to see Faith behind me. She looks down, sliding the cuffs of her warm-up coat sleeves over her hands.
“Really?”
“Ever since she found out we were all going to be Alex’s students.”
“Team Alex.” She looks up at my comment, and I shake my head. “Never mind.”
“You don’t think he’d like us calling it that?”
We’re skating together now, gliding slowly side by side.
“I think he’d probably tell me I can be more creative. Or that it should be about us, not him, or something.”
“That make sense, I guess.”
We both go quiet, keeping our eyes on other skaters. Some wear official Team USA jackets. Most have on the same stretchy leggings as Faith and me, but my gaze keeps drifting to an older girl. She stands in front of Miss Lydia for a lesson, wearing tights, a leotard, and a flowery wraparound skirt.
My stomach twists. I force myself to look up at Faith instead.
Alex mentioned jump exercises, but I don’t want Faith thinking I’m a know-it-all, demonstrating things before Alex teaches them to her. I have another idea, one that seems safer. “Do you want to run through jumps together? Like, singles, then doubles, and combos and stuff?”
“Okay.” She nods. “Start with a waltz jump, then I’ll do mine.”
We fly across the ice, performing simple single-rotation jumps with legs extended behind us to practice strong landings. We move on to doubles next, which require better focus and timing.
My doubles spring off the ice, explosive with tight, fast rotation. Faith’s are precise but slower, gracefully arcing through the air. The longer I skate with Faith, the easier it is to learn my new rink’s unspoken rules. When to avoid crossing another skater’s path. Who’s in a lesson. Which skater is practicing their program to music.
By the time Alex calls Faith over for her lesson, we’ve gotten through most of our jump combos. She waves to me, then skates off as an instrumental version of a pop song plays over the speakers. With nothing else to do, I perform a series of bunny hop jumps in time with the song, then a one-foot turn into an edgy power pull to pick up speed.
If Tamar were here, she’d probably join in, making up choreography with me. Today, I’m alone, letting the music guide my movements. Deep edges. Quick turns. A rapid blur of twizzles. I step forward and leap into a big single axel. The rink air nips at my cheeks. I breathe it in, then out in a fine mist, waiting for the next song.
My mind erases Miss Lydia’s scowling face. The skirt request feels like a distant memory.
This is what I love about skating.
I slip into character as the music changes to a selection from Carmen, adding sharp arm movements to my landings. Right hand on my hip. Left arm arched over my head. I step forward, preparing to spin, but stop when I spot Alex.
“Looks like you’ve managed to settle in some.” He glides closer to me. “Session’s done. Grab your stuff. I want to run something by you.”
We pass the benches, then walk through the door I saw Alex exit into before the session started. I immediately recognize it as a coaches’ lounge.
“Have a seat,” Alex says, gesturing to a chair, “and let’s get down to—”
Bzzzrr!
“Just a sec.” Alex pulls out his vibrating phone. “It’s Myles.”
While Alex and his husband discuss weekend plans, I slide my duffel bag off my shoulder, drop into the chair, and unlace my skates partway. Now that I’m off the ice, the whole morning comes back to me, from my pre-alarm jitters to Miss Lydia’s skirt request.
I take a deep breath and let it out fast.
As Alex talks, I fish through my bag for my phone. Tamar’s sent even more texts.
11:38 a.m.: The suspense is killing me… How’s everything going?? (Answer when u can, no pressure)
11:39 a.m.: OK some pressure. I’m bored and you’ve only been gone like 3 hours
12:07 p.m.: At the rink. Twizzles still scratchy and trying to kill me 
Where do I start? There’s so much to tell her.
“Ana?” Alex points to his phone. “Want to say hi?”
“Oh, sure!”
Alex rotates the screen, and Myles’s smiling face greets me. His head is completely shaved, brown skin contrasting with the collar on his light pink shirt.
“Hi, Bean. How’s it going?” His southern accent makes each vowel sound long and special.
“Good.” I flex my ankles in my skates.
“You must be real excited about—”
“Hold that thought.” Alex cuts in. “I haven’t had a chance to tell her yet.”
“Ah, my mistake!” Myles shoots me a wink. “My lips are sealed, too, then.”
After a quick goodbye, Alex ends the call. “All right, let’s talk skating.” I drop my phone into my lap, leaning forward in my seat.
“I’ll work on revamping your old Juvenile program later this week to make sure it’s competitive for Intermediate. Your mom said you’d be fine keeping last year’s costume.” I nod but keep quiet. I want him to explain what Mom and Myles both know that I don’t. “Now, remember when I said things would be changing in the qualifying competition pipeline this season?”
“You said there’s a training camp instead of Nationals.”
“I did, indeed. But there’s more.” Alex leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Starting this year, skaters have a chance to skip Regionals and go straight to Sectionals based on their scores at select summer competitions.”
I sit up straighter.
“Regionals will remain the same, with the top four skaters qualifying for Sectionals,” Alex explains. “But I wanted to make you aware that they’ll be tracking scores at your first competition this summer in Los Angeles.”
I stare at him, eyes wide. “You mean if I skate well there, I could automatically qualify for Sectionals?”
Alex nods. “I want to be clear, though, Ana. Your mom and I aren’t having you compete in Los Angeles with that as a goal, not so soon after moving up a level and giving you a new program. If you qualify for Sectionals, great, but the main objective is to develop endurance and consistency in your new programs this summer. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s settled. And one more thing…”
I barely hear him. I know Alex said we won’t be focusing on trying to skip Regionals in October, but I can’t help thinking that Mom wouldn’t have to take as much time off from work if I did. She also wouldn’t have to buy another set of plane tickets if I advanced straight to Sectionals this November.
“Your mom and I had a talk a few weeks back, while we were discussing the move to Oakland. As much as she wants you to focus solely on skating, we know you’re aware of the high cost of your training. The rink manager has offered to help offset some of these expenses by covering your ice-time.”
“Free ice?” My thoughts about skipping Regionals grind to a halt.
“Yeah.” Alex gives me a small smile. “Here’s the deal: Rink management will offer you ice-time in exchange for your help with their Tuesday night skate-school classes. You’d be my assistant, working with kids who need individual attention and demonstrating skills.”
He pauses just long enough to confirm that, yes, I’m listening. I really am—as if he couldn’t already tell from my mouth hanging open.
“The summer semester starts tomorrow. One of the skate-school instructors who lives in San Francisco will drive you home in the evening since the Parks will be gone by then. Her name’s Jen. You’ll get to meet her tomorrow. Any questions?”
I do some quick math. At fifteen dollars an hour and four hours on the ice every weekday, that’d save Mom three hundred dollars a week—over a thousand each month!
“I just have to help out one night a week? For all the freestyle ice I want?”
Alex nods. “They may have other requests, but management knows they have to work around your training schedule.” He looks at me straight on. “Can I assume that poorly concealed grin means you’ll accept their offer?”
I am this close to rolling my eyes at him.
“Yes!”
He mouths the word excellent, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain.
I roll my eyes for real this time, pull my lunchbox out of my duffel bag, and look inside. This day keeps getting better! Mom packed bao. A steamed bun filled with bean paste, the bao is technically my dessert. But since I’m old enough to help pay for my training now, I should also get to decide what order I eat things in. The bao comes first.
“Do you still have those boot covers you got at Regionals last year?” Alex asks. I nod, mouth already full. “Bring them with you tomorrow, along with a warmer pair of pants. It gets cold fast when you’re teaching. The rink will provide an instructor coat.”
“O-tay,” I say, mouth full of bean paste filling.
Alex checks the clock on his phone. “I’ve got to head back to the ice. Watch the time, but feel free to stay here and finish your lunch. You’re officially a rink staff member. Between working with Lydia and assisting skate-school students, you’re going to have your hands full this summer. Think you can manage?”
“Definitely.” I polish off the last of my bao. “Oh, and, Alex,” I call in my sweetest, most innocent tone. He pauses, hand on the doorknob. “It’s Miss Lydia.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t hide his grin. Then he’s gone, leaving me to my dessert-first lunch.
For the first time today, my smile is 100 percent genuine.